Tidman stares at me disgusted, then hunches his shoulders and grunts,
"Oh, well!"

"And now," says Pettigrew, "it's nearly time for Epictetus."

Sounded something like lunch to me, but I wasn't takin' any hints. I'd
discovered several things that Waldo didn't care for, money being among
'em, and now I was tryin' to get a line on what he did like. So I was
all for stickin' around.

"Possibly," suggests Tidman, smilin' sarcastic, "our young friend is an
admirer of Epictetus."

"I ain't seen many of the big games this year," says I. "What league
is he in?"

"Epictetus," says Waldo, breakin' it to me as gentle as he can, "was a
Greek philosopher. We are reading his 'Discourses.'"

"Oh!" says I. "Not so close, was I? Now, what was his line of
dope--something like the Dooley stuff?"

Waldo and Tidman swaps grins, sort of sly and sheepish, like they
wasn't used to indulgin' in such frivolity. They seemed to enjoy it,
though, and the first thing I know I'm bein' put through a sort of
highbrow third degree, the object being to show up what an empty loft I
wear my pink thatch on.

Course, they didn't have to dig very deep into back-number hist'ry or